the act of suicide doesn't always occur at the last breath

The key to my heart
can be found in the lock
of the blade that tears me apart.
cure the pain, cure the pain
so i can be saved.
deem me sane, deem me sane.
Idle time is a dangerous thing for the idle brain,

I said i didnt want to start again.
Square one has high walls.
To stay trapped or to climb?
well that all depends,
maybe im a little scared to fall.

Strung out on the astmosphere of the evening
and all the days before.
I leave all of my entrances wide out and open,
but infatuative hate uses no doors.
it's here to stay...
so were trapped in ardour bay.
the tug boats are dwindling,
the tourists that were afloat,
well spiteful sharks they swallowed them whole,
and now were left in salted blood
and eager tilling.

I used to believe that all i harboured was guilt,
but all ive come to find over time
was how my design was really built.
ive never been so close to hate
yet i have never been so far away.

the things i feel have lost their appeal
once again i am lost to the on going fray.

all i wanted, all i wanted,
was to taste these things again.
all i wanted...
is this what i wanted?
perhaps to sense tangibly my eager friend.

black and white
day and night
love and hate.
i never used to act, i ever had to hid my shame.
so turn on the light
and give me some sight.
or is the fillament burnt?
if so i will surely fade.

The key to my heart
is in this pain i feel.
a deadlock cut that tears apart
and makes such hatred real.